Intermission
He really fucking hated the assignment. Go get the girl, Aizen had told him. Don't bring attention to it, he said. Bring her back to Hueco Mundo, he said. Don't touch her, he said. She'll come willingly, he said.
He had lied, and he had made the seemingly simple task nearly impossible to complete.
Oh, sure, he had found the girl—Kaori? He couldn't be sure. He had never been good with names—easily enough. Her spiritual pressure was strong, and it was unique and had a weird texture to it. It was like pins and needles and sandpaper and salt in stab wounds, but it was also like grass against skin and newly fallen rain and small waves shifting sand. It was like she had two different reiatsu's, and the calmer one was stronger than the other.
But the first actual sight he had gotten of her was her running down the sidewalk, weaving through people. Her hair was white-blond and frizzy, falling down to her elbows and bouncing as she moved. She ran into a couple of people, stumbling and yet never crashing to the concrete. He follows her for two blocks, always on the opposite side of the street.
Eventually she stops when she reaches a little girl, nearly doubled over and struggling for breath. Her cheeks are bright red, hair trying to stick itself to her face as she tries to breathe. But there is a smile on her face, especially when she talks to the child.
She looks too young to belong to her, he decided. Too different as well, because where his target's hair was glaringly blond and frizzy, the girl's was black and wavy. But while the girl did have spiritual pressure, it was not nearly as strong as the blond's.
He decided he would wait until the smaller girl wasn't around, and then he would approach her. What he was going to say and how he was going to do it, he couldn't decide.
So he just followed her home.
She peeked out the window on occasion, staring directly at him for a few moments before ducking back behind the curtains of the apartment, a frightened look on her face that he could see even from the distance between them.
Aizen had lied; he would need help. She wouldn't come willingly, he could see that from the way she didn't leave her fucking apartment.
And that was why he decided to get Shawlong involved. If Grimmjow couldn't personally harm her and drag her to Las Noches, then Shawlong could. Aizen had said nothing about Shawlong.
But of course, when she jumped in front of the fucking car, he had to break one of Aizen's rules about his mission. He had to touch her and pull her out of the street and sonido somewhere out of the way. She was corporeal and could be seen by everyone else—disappearing in the middle of a busy street would have caused questions, and he did not need questions.
It had been an in the heat of the moment decision to grab her, but he wouldn't tell anyone that he had actually thought about letting her get hit by the car.
He had pushed her away when they reached the back of an alleyway. A drizzle was falling and the girl landed in a puddle, smashing her head on the concrete. If that didn't knock her out, then Shawlong would. He could tell from her mad dash into a busy roadway that Aizen had lied and that there was no way she was willing to leave to Las Noches.
But he had picked her up and carried her through the Garganta into Las Noches.
In the end, he had just dumped her on the couch in the room that Usagi had prepared. The green-haired arrancar had watched him closely, a frown set firmly on her face. She had been assigned to watch over the idiot woman—girl? He wasn't sure. That wasn't much of a difference from what he could see. She had small tits, anyways—during her stay in Las Noches.
It would likely be the last place she ever saw.
"You can't just dump her on the fucking couch, Grimmjow," Usagi had snapped. Her teeth were sharp and pointy, almost like a shark's. He shuddered to think of what she was capable of doing with those teeth. "She's going to get cold and uncomfortable. She's a guest!"
Grimmjow had just rolled his eyes. Usagi snarled at him and sonido-ed elsewhere, only to return seconds later with a blanket and a pillow, which she tossed at him.
"Cover her up, asshole—and at least have the decency to remove her satchel! She'll be uncomfortable with it on."
He sneered at her, lips twisted in a macabre frown. "Why don't you fucking do it? You're supposed to be taking care of her."
In response, she simply jutted out her lower lip. "I'm afraid I won't be able to pick her up—someone told me I was too weak."
He really fucking hated Usagi.
He removed the bag anyways and covered her up with the blanket for good measure, even though he thought about smothering her with the pillow for a moment. But he knew that Usagi would stop him from doing that.
Unless, of course, he strangled Usagi with the blanket first.
He had reported to Aizen dutifully once that was done with, leaving Usagi far behind so she could do whatever the fuck it was she was supposed to be doing.
But then Aizen actually wanted to meet with the girl. Kaori, he guessed, was a name he was going to have to come to remember because apparently having just Usagi to take care of her wasn't enough—Grimmjow was going to have to escort her to and from her meetings with Aizen.
All Usagi had to do was make sure she was fed.
And so he had gone all the way back to the room their captive was in at a relaxed place, positive the idiot wouldn't awake for some time—he had made sure Shawlong had knocked her out cold. He hadn't counted on Aizen wanting an audience with her so soon after her arrival; generally, he let captives sit and stew for awhile.
But he still couldn't figure out what was so special about this one; why did Aizen want her here? It couldn't have been because of her reiatsu. Sure, it was weird, but it really wasn't anything special strength-wise. She could be crushed in battle easily enough.
He was surprised to see her up and standing when he walked into the room. Her back was to him, and she was staring out the barred window, muttering to herself.
He hadn't been thinking when he had walked up behind her, but when she had turned around and screeched, he knew it had been a mistake. She looked quiet, but she had vocal chords that would make an elephant's seem small.
He had only smashed his hand over his mouth when she had decided to scream again, but louder, after being asked politely to silence herself (so maybe it wasn't polite, but it was as polite as he was going to get and she was just going to have to deal with it).
She had a habit of talking to herself and seemed to have almost no filter between her mouth and her mind, which had to have been scatter brained as it was from the words that tumbled out.
And when she had refused to actually enter the room to see Aizen, he hadn't really thought much of grabbing her by the arm and yanking her inside. He had been berated for his actions and wrongfully so because the bitch was stubborn and far more annoying than Usagi. Not that Aizen would buy that, of course.
He should have suffocated her when he had the chance, or at least left her in front of that car.
Instead, he just pushed her into her room and shut the door and locked it.
He found Usagi later. She was sitting against a wall in one of the many hallways, eyes closed and legs stretched out on the floor. For being so righteous about how they treated Kaori, she really was a lazy bitch. She was the 51st Numero and was no one's fraccion, so really she just did some of the grunt work that Aizen or Gin or even Tosen assigned to her.
"It's back in that room," he informed her. She didn't budge an inch.
"Her name is Kaori, Grimmjow, and she looks like a nice person."
"She's fucking crazy, that's what she is." He shoved his hands down into his pockets, bunching up his shoulders.
"You're like a child, and you think all women are fucking crazy, asshole. I'm sure she's fine." Before he knew it, Usagi had launched a stack of new clothing at him before he had time to manage where the fuck she pulled it from. "Here; have her put these on since her other clothes are dirty from someone pushing her into a puddle."
He bit back a retort because even if he had called Usagi weak, she had very nearly become the Sexta Espada instead of him. But for some reason, she had refused Aizen—something no one did. And she could very well kick his ass even if he really, really didn't want to admit it (which he never did to anyone except for himself. He had tried to beat her once—it didn't work out too well).
"And be nice!" she shouted after him when he started down the hall again, stack of clothes tucked up underneath his arm.
Her face and neck are covered in flecks of dried blood. She looks calm when she's sleeping, compared to the red faced girl he had first laid eyes on. She sleeps on her back, one arm tossed up over her eyes and the other lazily resting on her abdomen.
Even her fingers have blood on them.
The stack of clothes Usagi had given him were still tucked under his arm, but a wet cloth was now in one of his hands. He hadn't forgotten about her bloody nose and he couldn't quite say why.
It must have just been the blood. He never really forgot blood.
But in the end, he had woken her up after a handful of tries—shaking her, it seemed, didn't work. She hardly reacted until he screeched 'get up' in her ear, and even then she had been slow to wake.
He had stood back and tossed the rag in her face as she woke up, not entirely sure how to act. He wasn't necessarily the social butterfly type.
Blood. On your face, he might have said at the inquisitive look he received, all big green eyes and thick eyelashes and sleep-mussed hair and blood stains. But she seemed to get the idea, given her terse 'thanks' and how she quickly attacked the dried flakes.
She was meticulous as she removed every spec of dried blood from her face and pale, slender throat. And once she was done, he gave her no time to dally; he tossed the stack of clothes at her, hoping she would get the idea.
Instead, he got an argument and his temper flared, like it generally did when he was faced with arguments. There was a small part of his mind that was focused on her reiatsu, checking to see what it did when she was goaded into a given situation.
But he slipped up and drew Pantera and held the tip at the base of her pretty throat and threatened her and she didn't yield. She was stubborn and she was crazy and she didn't yield.
And then the weird part of her reiatsu spiked—the pins and needles, salt in stab wounds, nails on chalkboards reiatsu-and her eyes glassed over and she stuttered, and Grimmjow knew then that that was his chance. He tossed Pantera to the side and hauled her to her feet.
She seemed short, but she was all arms and legs and knees and elbows and bone. Fuck, were her elbows sharp and pointy. And she was small, her waist narrow, her hip bones jutting out and her stomach flat. He could see the vertebrae of her spine jutting up beneath the skin on her back, little soldiers meant to keep her upright.
She was sullen by the time they had finished, bruises that matched his fingerprints forming on her wrists and other patches of her flesh. And that was when he found that she wasn't much for conversation and liked to sleep rather too much.
Remembering Usagi's words, he tossed the blanket over her still form before he left.
He couldn't remember what he was fighting with Ulquiorra about; they fought too often to recall reasoning, although sometimes Grimmjow argued just for the sake of arguing and hoping it would turn into a fight. But it pissed him the fuck off at how calm Ulquiorra could remain when he himself could get so worked up.
It was funny how the simple words "Your charge has escaped" spoken in a monotone voice could stop him completely. He hadn't felt Kaori's weird reiatsu approaching them, couldn't recall if he had locked the door to her room or not.
As it turns out, he didn't, especially given that she stood only a handful of feet away from him. Even in the semi-dark, the bruises Shawlong had placed on her neck stood stark on her skin. He could see the bruises forming on her wrists, too.
He didn't even notice Ulquiorra take his leave; he focused on the escaped captive instead, whose green eyes were wide and frightened.
And then she was blabbering in that high, soft voice of hers that seemed to talk about yodeling just a little too much. He didn't pay much attention to the words; he was too mad. Mad to see her out where she could actually run into danger, mad because of Ulquiorra, and of course because of Usagi because really how could he not be mad at Usagi?
So he punched the wall directly next to her head, gratified to see her flinch. His face was just inches from hers, both of their breaths coming in quick, heady gasps. Hers were terrified, and his were angry, but somehow that seemed okay to him. She should be terrified of him, of Aizen, of everyone there.
He punched the wall again and stalked off, unsurprised when he went back to find her sitting on the floor and shaking profusely.
Not that he cared, really.
Five days and six hours.
That was how long it took him to realize that what he had done to frighten Kaori really had probably not have been right and knew that Usagi would murder him if she ever found out. Of course, Usagi would murder him if she found out a great deal of things, which was really why he killed more people than he left alive—more often than not, they were eyewitnesses (it helped that he liked killing; it provided him with a more viable cover story).
He'd been surprised that Kaori hadn't blamed about anything that he had done; it she had, he would have been ghosted at least five days and seven hours ago.
And he decided, for some queer reason, that he should probably see her. Not because he cared about scaring her, for that was what he figured he had done, but instead to see how she would act around him after the hallway incident. Taking her to Aizen just gave him a reason.
But he didn't want to go while Usagi was there, or even while Usagi could get there.
Which was precisely why he locked her in her room and raced to wherever it was she got Kaori's food (he wasn't stupid enough to ask her for directions after locking her in her room, so he just followed his nose).
He hadn't expected to see Kaori sitting upside down in a chair, white-blond hair with semi-showing brown roots trailing on the floor, slender hands clasped together on her stomach. The chair hadn't been there before and neither had the table that he set her food—soup? He wasn't sure. Gin made it, and he didn't trust make of anything Gin made—on before he proceeded to flop onto the couch.
The stubborn bitch wouldn't even open her eyes, but she did speak.
"Where's Usagi?"
He couldn't say "locked in her room"; that would just raise suspicion. So instead he graced her with a "busy", to which she wanted to know if Usagi was dead. Of course she wasn't fucking dead—he couldn't kill her; he had tried. Repeatedly.
And as it turned out, he was late bringing her her food. She was a demanding little twat. But then he had seen her trembling hands, nearly like a small scale version of her breakdown in the hall. He didn't quite understand why she was shaking, but he knew it had to have something to do with him being "late." Late was a relative term that really shouldn't apply to him.
But she got out of the chair and at when he told her to, albeit in a weird way. He thought she was going to smash her head into the table that he hadn't recalled being in there only five days and eight hours ago. Usagi must have brought it in, he decided—she tended to be nice to captives.
And then he started asking questions, even though he had told his tongue not to move and his mouth not to create any sort of noise. To his surprise, she had answered most of them in a civil manner, shoveling spoonfuls of soup into her maw all the while.
It was the last question he asked—And what if you don't?—that he really wanted the answer to. She continually evaded it, almost as if she was purposely attempting to vex him. He hadn't taken her for the bloodthirsty type, small and crazy as she was, but then again he had never really been a good judge of character.
But she wouldn't answer. Instead, he got a spoon thrown at him. He hadn't meant to let it land in his open mouth—he really had tried to catch it with his hands, but it had bounced off and decided to make it's home in his mouth.
She had dived under the small table as if that was going to help her. To his surprise, he wasn't necessarily angry with her for throwing the spoon and instead of immediately going for Pantera and making her into a shiskabob, he carefully moved the tray from the table and onto the couch before flipping the table(Gin had threatened earlier that if he broke even one piece of the set, shit was going down).
As he had expected, Kaori shrieked and rolled and knocked the chair over.
He spit the spoon back at her, unaware of the grin on his face.
Her second meeting with Aizen was by far weirder than the first. She hadn't displayed any signs of being crazy to him at any of the earlier dates—even when he abducted her—but in the room that time, she was freaking out. Her reiatsu would spike, calm at first and then white-hot needles pressing into his skin.
She was swaying, shoulders heaving; he could hear her breath coming in quick, sharp, shallow gasps as she spoke to Aizen, who really didn't seem all that interested in what she had to say.
Grimmjow didn't really listen. He was too distracted by the changes in her spiritual pressure.
He had followed her into the hall after their meeting slowly, hands in his pockets again. He approached her after she leaned against the wall, whole body trembling. It was strange, though, because he had just seen her swallow one of those funny little capsules that she had said would make it stop.
And that was when she turned around and punched him.
Well, she tried to. There was almost no physical force behind it, no conviction. All of the force that had surprised him and left him with a cut on his face, though, was from her reiatsu. She had, knowingly or not he couldn't say, packed enough of it behind her punch to cut him.
So he punched her back, right in the face, and sent her sprawling to the ground.
Update? Update! Yay for updates! Would have gotten this up sooner, but I'm on a daytrip and hadn't had it done before I left this morning.
Feedback? Feedback is great.